2

80 miles south-southwest of Berlin, April 30, 1945

Three SS soldiers, hidden in a machine gun nest, looked up as they saw a strange craft trailing black smoke fly over them.

Dean, taking advantage of the noise and distraction, took careful aim at the SS soldier smoking a cigarette 20 meters away. He calmed his breath and paid attention to his heart rate. The line of sight through the De Lisle suppressed rifle moved up and down along the torso of the intended target.

He squeezed the trigger, and the muffled puffing sound of the exiting .45 caliber copper bullet was the only noise that emanated from the suppressed rifle barrel. As the target began to fall, Dean heard the distinctive puffing sounds from two other De Lisle rifles on either side of him and the other two SS soldiers collapsed under their own dead weight.

Dean got up, shouldered his rifle, and replaced it with another weapon as he ran to the machine gun nest. He pointed his OSS M3-A1 suppressed submachine gun—also known as the grease gun because of its uncanny resemblance to a real grease gun—at the three bodies. One of the soldiers squirmed in pain. Dean squeezed the trigger, silencing the man.

Seconds later, Dean was surrounded by lumps of leaves and burlap. The Marines, wearing Ghillie suits, pointed their grease guns at all points of the compass. The Ghillie suit each man wore was the result of a suggestion of the man now kneeling next to Dean, Master Sergeant Collins.

Collins was a first-generation American of Scottish descent. It was his father who had instructed him on how to construct a suit out of burlap and surrounding foliage which, when put together, would break up the silhouette of the human form and, in turn, the wearer would blend into the surrounding scenery, essentially making him invisible. It was the old way of keeping the herd safe from poachers and became a very useful tool in a time of war.

Collins first introduced the idea to Dean in Italy during a scouting mission. He told Dean to go into the château the Army was using as a forward command center, count to 10, then come out and try to find him.

Dean gave up after a few minutes of walking around and getting pelted by rocks. He was convinced of the Ghillie’s use when he saw Collins waving at him from a squatting position, acting like an ivy-covered tree stump. That day Dean ordered Collins to teach all his men, including himself, the art and use of the Scottish Ghillie suit.

“Sir, what was that thing?” Vic asked.

“Helicopter. Germans have been using them for a few years now. Impressive machines.” Dean looked to the right. “Vic, hide the bodies, and stay out here for the next patrol. Once you take them out, follow us in.”

Vic jumped his five-foot-two-inch skinny Italian body into the machinegun nest and started moving the bodies from sight.

Dean pulled out an aerial picture of the site and pointed to a dot on the black and white photo. “This is our entry point. An air vent. We are here…” He moved his finger down the photo to the machine gun nest they now occupied. “According to intelligence, the V-2 rocket manufacturing facility is right under our feet. Part of the First Armored Division has been sent our way, and should be here within the hour. As per our briefing, we are here to make it easy for the Army boys, and to keep the Russians out if they get here first...and it looks like it’s going to be a close one from what I saw when we jumped. Any questions?”

The men shook their heads.

“Good, let’s go then.”

Dean and Corporal William “Bill” Sertain, the radioman and electrical wizard, crouched as they hurried to the air vent.

“Yep. The vent is wired. Should take me a minute or so,” Bill said. He reached into his pack and retrieved his electrical kit.

By the time Bill had bypassed the alarm system, the rest of the team had formed a perimeter circle around the vent. Dean tied the climbing rope around the concrete shaft and then helped Bill slide the iron grate off the manhole-sized opening.

The shaft’s diameter was too small for him to wear his pack, so he left it behind to be sent down after him. Dean removed his Ghillie suit and was the first to repel down the shaft. His feet touched a hard concrete bend in the pipe 75 feet down. The horizontal pipe’s diameter was tall enough to allow a man to maneuver within; he figured it was designed for a cleanup crew to inspect.

Dean shook the rope and held it tight for the next team member. Second down was Sergeant Jackson, the unit’s explosives expert. Jackson was a Puerto Rican native who’d joined the Marines to see the world. The Marines discovered he had a knack for blowing things up, and a man with such gifts was not to be overlooked when Dean had put his unit together.

Jack, as the rest of the team called him, knew to use sign language in the tunnels. Noises had a tendency to travel long distances in such conditions. He shook the rope and it went flying up the shaft. As they waited, Dean tapped him on the shoulder and motioned that he was going to go deeper into the pipe. Jack nodded that he understood and turned his attention to the backpacks coming down the shaft.

Otto made a high-speed wheel landing on the grass field, and by doing so, kept the temperatures of the cylinders low enough to coax a few more seconds of function out of the burning radial engine before it would seize. After a 200-meter rollout, Otto saw a group of men with a fire hose running toward him from a dark, ominous, concrete cave. The helicopter was showered by pressurized water as it rolled past the overhang and through a bomber-sized hangar door. Otto jumped out of his seat as the helicopter came to a stop, and ran past the hose men. He stood back and watched as a crowd of soldiers and medical teams rushed to the aid of the burnt SS colonel in the rear compartment of the helicopter.

Otto turned from the commotion and took in his new surroundings. The cavern was made of concrete. It’s ceiling rose over 10 meters to accommodate the tail height of transport aircraft. To his right were the remains of six Me-262 jets that had clearly been cannibalized for parts. To his left over a dozen Tiger tanks began to spew black smoke from their exhausts. It was orchestrated chaos in the hangar.

The crowd that had gathered around his helicopter moved as one away from it and down toward the back of the concrete hangar. Otto ignored the commotion around him as he tried to figure out his next move. He sat alone on the right landing gear wheel, staring aimlessly over the fire-damaged BMW radial engine until two soldiers approached from his left.

The corporal cleared his throat to get Otto’s attention. “Sir, excuse me. Could you give me an estimated number on the troop movements?”

Otto looked up from the engine bay. “There were three platoons that I could see. All had Russian markings. Four kilometers to the east.”

Around him, soldiers prepared for an upcoming battle.

“Off to the west was a line of 10 Sherman tanks, moving fast.”

Workers moved planes around to make space for four Tiger tanks, which took defensive positions around the entrance to the hangar.

Otto looked around, worried about where he could ride out the battle and stay alive for another day. “Looks like we have less than an hour.”

“Thank you for the update, Major. If you would follow me now, the general is asking for you,” he said as he handed a note to the private standing behind him, who ran off toward the Tiger tanks.

“Corporal, do I look like I’m presentable to meet a member of the High Command?” He turned as the remaining Tiger tanks accelerated out of the hangar.

“Sir, we do have a change of clothes for you. Please follow me.”

“Hold on, Corporal, let me get my flight bag.” He stepped up to the cockpit of the helicopter and reached in, grabbing the wet duffel bag containing his falsified papers and civilian clothes. Last thing he needed was for one of the SS guards to go fishing through his bag and arrest him for attempted desertion.

He was led through a side door, which took him inside the Me-262 jet fighter pilots’ locker room.

“This is Major Schneider’s locker; you can use his uniform. The showers have cold water,” the corporal said as he opened the locker.

“Don’t you think he will mind?”

“No, sir. The flight squadron had orders not to return.” He looked down at a stopwatch in his hand. “You have exactly 10 minutes.” The corporal sidestepped and waited by the door for Otto to get ready.

The cold shower felt great considering the amount of sweat that had poured out of his body during the mission. He dried off and put on the major’s clothes, transferred his insignia and awards onto the shirt, and threw on his damp, brown leather jacket. He picked up his duffel bag, followed the corporal back into the hangar, and noticed that his helicopter was gone.

“Where is my helicopter?”

“It is being moved to a safe location for repair.”

Otto thought that maybe, just maybe, he could still fly out. He walked behind the corporal and looked around, knowing all too well that all of the men around him were in for a losing fight.

Otto noticed that he was heading much deeper underground. An SS platoon three rows deep, guarding a meter-thick steel door, parted and saluted at Otto. Otto found it strange, but returned the salute. He and the corporal walked through the door and watched as it closed behind them.

“Well, the Russians will have a hard time getting through there.”

“Yes, they will. Because of you those men have volunteered to guard the door at all costs.”

The steel door closed with a resounding thud and locked behind them.

Scheissen...I meant the door, not the soldiers. What the hell am I into now?

A small rail cart sat 10 meters in front of them. Otto stepped onboard along with the corporal. The corporal turned a few dials and the small cart began to move, picking up speed with every meter it traveled.

“Where is everybody?”

“Waiting for you.”

Otto stopped asking questions; to him each answer was not what he wanted to hear. He took his mind off the subject, concentrating on the speedometer on the panel. For such a small rail car, he was amazed that they were speeding past 100 kilometers per hour. Then the cart began to slow. They had been traveling for only a few minutes when they reached the stop.

The underground station was deserted. Otto got an eerie feeling when he heard a constant humming coming from in front of them. Once on the platform, they walked over to another steel door. The corporal slid it open and Otto stepped into a pantry-sized room.

The door then shut behind them and Otto felt the pressure change as his ears began to pop. Thirty seconds later a door in front of him slid open. The corporal moved forward, but Otto stood still, amazed at what lay before him.

The crawl through the pipe took some time before Dean came across a sliding steel hatch. He pressed his ear to it and listened.

Nobody’s home, but just to be safe...

Dean pulled out his good luck charm—an 1875 single-action Smith & Wesson Schofield Model 3, five-inch revolver. The gun was converted to fire the powerful and abundant .45 ACP bullets loaded in a circular moon clip, making it very quick to load and unload. The Schofield was a family heirloom and was given to him before being sent to war. To date it had kept him safe. Dean adjusted himself and got into a squatting position as he waited for Jack to arrive.

Once together, Jack aimed his grease gun and nodded at the revolver. “Luck, don’t fail us now...” he whispered.

Dean cocked the hammer.

Jack winked and pulled hard on the hatch.

The hatch slid open and Dean swept the room from the safety of the pipe. “Clear.”

Jack jumped down into the 10-foot by 10-foot room. It was the left wall that caught his attention. Nestled within it was an array of lights, switches, and gauges. Dean approached the wall and holstered the Schofield in its leather cross-draw holster as he watched the needles in the gauges rotating counterclockwise.

“Wow, only seen such a set-up in a sub,” Collins said as he jumped down from the hatch.

Dean looked back to see his team had gathered in the small room, minus Vic, who remained up top waiting for the patrol. A small alarm went off and the steel door to the vent tunnel slid shut.

“It’s stuck, sir,” Jack said as he tried to pry it open.

Dean looked at the other door in the room. Above it a small green light began to strobe.

“Never mind that. We’ll blow it if we have to.”

“What about Vic?”

“He’s a big boy, he’ll figure it out,” Collins said as he stepped toward the door that Bill was inspecting.

“Is it wired, Bill?” Dean asked.

“Um...yes, but looks like it’s wired to this panel, just like the vent door we came through.” He pointed at the black electrical cords attached to the bare concrete wall.

“And what do you make of this?” Dean gestured to the gauges on the panels.

“Looks like pressure gauges, sir, and they’re moving counterclockwise.”

“Jesus, that tunnel is huge,” Collins said as he looked through the hubcap-sized window embedded in the steel door opposite the hatch.

“Sir, what do you want to do?” Jack asked.

“Well, it is definitely not like what we found six weeks ago. Bill, take some pictures and let’s move on.”

“We did not come here to relax, men. Let’s open her up,” Collins said.

Bill pulled hard on the door and the edges whistled. Dean could feel the suction as the door gave way. A buzzing alarm began to sound as Dean stepped through. “Hurry!” he yelled as Collins jumped through.

Jack just made it as the door closed, separating Bill from the group.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Bill said, his voice muffled by the thick window. “I’ll bypass it. Should take me a couple of minutes.”

Dean gave him a thumbs-up and stepped down the concrete ladder, which was molded into the curved wall.

I am now two men short. Bill could get back, but thinking that way could get one killed. As far as I know, I have two men left. Not good.

Dean turned around to find Collins and Jack staring at the immense tunnel around them. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. The tunnel was over 90 feet wide, and it had rails running around its circumference wall, much like the rifling inside a gun barrel. Between the rails and fastened to the circumference of the tunnel were cargo-pallet-sized black rectangular plates.

“Sir, did you feel the pressure change?”

“Yes.” Dean looked to both ends of the tunnel. “Let’s head toward the brighter side of the tunnel while Bill tries to get the door open.”

“Sir,” Collins asked, “what is this place?”

“I don’t know, but it sure doesn’t look like a V-2 rocket facility. Jack, you’re taking pictures, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, save your film. I have a feeling things are going to get stranger.”

Dean noticed a slight curve to the tunnel as the group began to walk through it. He stopped 10 minutes into his walk when he caught a glimpse of an object in the distance.

“Sir, what is that?” Jack asked.

Dean put his binoculars to his eyes and began to focus.

“What do you see, sir?” Collins asked as Dean handed him the binoculars.

“You tell me,” Dean said.

Collins looked at the object. “Um...well, sir, it looks like a floating subway train.”

“Good. For a minute I thought I was going crazy.”

“Herr General, what is this thing, sir?” Otto asked the general.

The general smiled. He put the Iron Cross around Otto’s neck. “It’s our past, and our future. Your actions have earned you and your ship…” The general looked to his left. Otto followed his gaze to see that his helicopter was being pushed into the train. “…Germany’s highest honor...to be invited to such an event.”

“Sir, I still don’t understand.”

“All your questions will soon be answered.” The SS general stepped back and performed a perfect salute. “Heil Hitler!”

All in the small gathering, including Otto, saluted back. “Heil Hitler!”

Otto always felt uncomfortable saying it, but now was not a good time to protest.

A corporal stepped up to the group. “Sir, it is time. The automatic settings are now active. In a few minutes the tunnel will become a vacuum. We need to step in and seal all doors.”

“Danka.” The general turned back to Otto. “Major, you will be seated with me in the second cabin. Corporal, please escort the major to his seat.”

The general and his team walked away toward the front of the train.

“Sir, you have to come with me for processing,” the corporal said as he spun on his heels and headed to the train door.

Otto looked around, trying to make sense of what was happening around him. The corporal turned and motioned to him. Otto took a labored breath and followed.

“Sir, I’m feeling short of breath,” Jack said.

Collins looked back at Jack. “Yeah, me too.”

Dean felt the same but kept silent. He picked up his pace as the lack of air began to take a toll on his lungs, and stopped a few meters from the train, studying it as it floated in midair. He pointed out the thin steel wires to Collins. The train was huge, around three times the width of a typical New York subway car. It was hung in the center of the massive tunnel about 20 feet above their heads. Its mystique was partly discredited by the hundreds of thin wires holding it up. Dean looked around as the sound of hundreds of clicks resonated through the tunnel, followed by a steady electric hum.

“What was that?” Jack asked.

Dean stepped closer to the train and began to notice a strange pull on his weapon, as if some unseen force were trying to pry the machine gun from his grip. The closer he got to the train, the stronger the pull became. He stopped once again as his dog tag chain leaped out off his shirt and magically hovered in the air.

It took a moment to register. Magnetism.

Dean’s hand shot up in a closed fist. Collins and Jack froze, aiming their weapons at the unseen danger. He turned his head around and whispered, “Gentlemen, stop and check that all your metal equipment is secure.”

Jack kneeled down, covering the others as they checked for loose items, when the Bowie Knife that he kept secure to his backpack strap flew out of its sheaf and toward Dean. Dean ducked away from the deadly object, but not before the tip of the blade nicked his right cheek.

All three watched the knife as it picked up speed until it hit a dark, cargo-pallet-sized metallic plate on the wall where it stuck, oblivious to gravity. Dean looked at the tunnel’s walls and now noticed that the plates were placed closer together.

“Jack, leave the knife, but get a couple of shots before you put that camera away.”

Dean was careful as he took each step toward what he guessed to be the rear of the train. With all the metal he had on him, any misstep could send him flying into one of the hundreds of plates now surrounding them, and the closer he got to the train the more he felt the pull of the magnets.

Dean found a wooden grab-handle at the rear of the train, suspended under it by a thin rope. He dragged his steel-toe boots forward five yards on the magnetic metal plates and reached up, taking hold of the wood handle. He pulled down and a long, thin ladder unfolded from the bottom of the train. The ladder’s main pivot point led to steps built into the rear structure. He grabbed the sides, checked that it was secure, and with great effort lifted his boots onto the bottom rung and began to climb. It took a few moments to reach the top, where he found a perch on a thin outcropping. He crouched on the ledge and moved up to the square window in the steel hatch, grabbing the vertical handhold next to it with one hand. He then aimed the Schofield with the other hand, peeked through the window, and saw an empty mechanical compartment. Dean looked down and with a small nod motioned for the rest of his team to head on up.

“Collins, you take point.” Dean took a labored breath. “Jack, you’re next.” He turned the handle. The door slid open, letting out a whistle of air, and like before, a small alarm went off. The door began to shut, but not before they were all in the small cabin.

Dean, feeling lightheaded, struggled for each breath. A small green light on top of the opposite door began to strobe and a shot of cool air was released into the compartment. They took in deep breaths of the fresh air as it filled the small cabin.

“Everybody good?” he whispered as he looked past the porthole window of a secondary door, scanning the long, thin hallway.

“Yeah, almost passed out there. It was like the air was being sucked out of me,” Jack said.

“Recheck weapons. I’ll take point,” Dean said as he holstered his Schofield, swung the grease gun around from his back, and stepped in front of Jack. “Ready?”

His team nodded once, then Jack reached across and pulled on the door handle.

The train car they were walking through contained a multitude of wooden boxes and furniture. Most were marked with personal names. Collins took a few seconds to pry one open and found photo albums, stock notes, civilian and military clothing.

“Looks like the inside of a moving truck,” Collins said.

As the team stepped through the car, Dean counted the paces he took before reaching the next compartment.

“One hundred meters,” he said as he grabbed the latch in front of him.

Dean nodded to Jack. Jack nodded back, and Dean slid the door open to his right. This time there was no rush of air, just a small hissing sound. As Dean stepped through he took note that the cars were separated by a pressure room large enough to hold four people. They walked through the first door, closed it, and waited for the green strobe before opening the next door. As the door slid open, the strong smell of gasoline filled the space. Dean could see swollen black rubber bags on both sides of the compartment that extended the length of the car.

“No smoking,” Jack said comically.

Collins chuckled, then reached over and touched one of the rubber bags. “Feels like they are filled to capacity.”

“Jack, lay one charge, but don’t set it,” Collins said.

Dean kept guard as Jack hid the explosive between the rubber bag and train wall. “All you have to do is activate it and run like hell,” Jack told them.

“Let’s keep going. I’m a little worried that we haven’t run into anyone.”

Dean began to turn as a crack, a whistle, and puffing sounds occurred within the span of a second. The nine-millimeter copper bullet passed under Dean’s chin and smacked into the sliding door behind him. At the same time, in the opposite direction, two .45 caliber slugs entered the body of an SS soldier, killing him on the spot.

“Guess I spoke too soon!”

Dean sprinted forward, and red lights illuminated the compartment. A German voice announced over an intercom that there were two minutes to launch.

“Good shot, Jack. Collins, did I hear right?” Dean asked as he reached the dead soldier.

“Yes, looks like somebody is going to try to get a V-2 rocket off without our permission.”

“Still doesn’t make sense.”

“What?”

“All this.” He pointed with his chin. “This strange train, the gasoline, the personal effects.” Dean peeked through the window of the next car. “Well, now this is even stranger,” he said as he slid open the door.

Packed all around them were cars, trucks, and motorcycles. The team ran through the train, zigzagging around all the machinery.

“What the hell is this?” Jack whispered.

“It looks like a garage for all things German.”

“Is that the helicopter we saw earlier?”

“Looks like it.”

“Sir, look at this car,” Jack said as he went ahead of Dean.

The car had the dimensions of a light truck but the looks of a convertible limousine. It was a black Mercedes Benz convertible with one front and two rear wheels on each side of the car.

“Oh, I’m taking this one back with me.”

“Sure, but first we have a few things to do.”

Dean was back at point when he noticed the group of barrels pointed at him.

“Cover!” he yelled as all three threw themselves behind a box marked “headlights/glass” half a second before a barrage of bullets began to disintegrate the items within the boxes.

Whoever led the firing squad in front of them made one critical mistake, which Dean picked out and used to his advantage. Dean waited a few more seconds. Then it came.

Silence.

“Cover fire!” Dean yelled out as he hurdled the box, took four strides, then jumped over another box. Dean turned his body in midair, landing hard on his back, and slid on the metal floor as he emptied a full clip at the four surprised SS soldiers who were all caught reloading at the same time.

“Clear!” Dean reloaded and turned to face the door behind him.

“Well, I guess they know we’re here!” Collins said as he took a knee next to Dean, who was now inside the pressure room, looking around as an electrical humming noise filled the compartment. Then the walls of the train and everything within began to vibrate.

Collins looked at Jack as he grabbed the handle on the sliding door. He could feel the door handle vibrating in his hand, nodded, and pulled. Jack went in first, followed by Dean, then Collins. He took stock of the cabin and didn’t like what he saw. The cabin was six triple rows wide with seats, but every one was empty.

“Keep a sharp eye, Jack; I don’t like our situation,” Dean said as he walked behind him.

Jack never had time to reply as a wall of bullets entered his body, sending him back into Dean. Dean, in turn, stumbled backward and was caught by Collins, who had just thrown a grenade. Jack’s body became a human shield, blocking the deadly bullets, saving the lives of Dean and Collins.

Dean crawled to the open door behind them, then past it, just as Collins’s grenade exploded. He heard a creaking sound and turned his head to see the middle of the car’s ceiling explode outward. The suction was so great that their bodies began to lift off the floor. Everything not tied down was lifted up, including Jack’s body. A couple of German soldiers standing near the hole were gruesomely folded in half as they were sucked out through it. It took but a few seconds of mayhem for the pressure between the tunnel and the train car to equalize. Dean and Collins fell back down to the floor of the small compartment, unable to breathe.

A red strobe went off, and the compartment door shut. Like before, the strobe turned green and a blast of air was released into the space between the cars. With every passing second the vibration and humming within the cars became deafening as Dean took a much-needed breath, got up, and peeked through the window to see an army of masked SS soldiers running to the door.

“Collins, give me the satchel charge. Hold your breath and slide open that door.”

Collins handed the satchel to Dean. Dean placed one foot on either side of the doorframe, bracing himself, and pulled on the satchel arming ring. The timer began to run as he held the explosive on his chest. He aimed his grease gun at the door and winked at Collins.

Collins took a deep breath, held it, and pulled as hard as he could. The door gave in and slid on its tracks. The pressure difference between the compartment and the vacuum created another smaller blowout that sent the satchel flying out over the first 10 soldiers. Dean also fired his grease gun, which took down six of the masked men. Once the pressure between both spaces equalized, he knelt as he emptied the rest of his bullets at the running crowd.

The alarm went off and the door began to slide closed as Dean’s eyes grew wide at what appeared before him.

It was at that exact time that one of the SS soldiers shot back. Dean did not react as his last bullet exited his barrel and 30 feet away a German nine-millimeter bullet flew toward his head. The German bullet went traveling over the speed of sound toward its target, and right behind it a bright wall of light was catching up.

Dean stared in awe as the white light rushed toward him.

The light passed through the hot copper nine-millimeter bullet a meter in front of Dean, and a split second later engulfed him.

The space where Dean stood turned to fire as the automatic self-destruct systems activated. The enormous explosion disintegrated everything within its radius. Its concussion wave swallowed up the miles-long subway tunnel and in that instant the ground above bellowed from the enormous pressure below, and then collapsed within itself, burying the complex and sending all its contents into oblivion.